Guilty pleasure poetry

Tag Archives: Amy Key

Amy was born in Dover in 1978 and grew up in Kent and South Shields. Her pamphlet Instead of Stars was published by tall-lighthouse in 2009. She is a poet-in-residence for ethical lingerie brand Holloway Smith Noir. She co-runs The Shuffle, a monthly poetry reading series at London’s Poetry Café and is the co-editor of The Shuffle anthology series. Amy lives in London, working as a civil servant. You can find her poems, along with some photography and clutter on her tumblr Leopard-skin Pill-box Hat and her tweets @msamykey.

April will be a fruitful month for poetry, with not one but TWO excellent poetry events happening in Beaconsfield and its surroundings…

Our next evening of featured poets & open mic will be at the wonderful Jolly Cricketers, in Seer Green, Beaconsfield. As you can see from the picture, our next loose theme for this next event will be ‘Maps’. You can share poetry you’ve written on the theme, or ignore it altogether.

Our featured poets are: Jim Bennett, Amy Key, Jonathan Steffen and Christine Webb. Posts in the lead up to the event will appear on this website with more information on these poets.

To put you in the mood, here is a poem by Elizabeth Bishop ‘The Map’:

The Map

Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drawing it unperturbed around itself?
Along the fine tan sandy shelf
is the land tugging at the sea from under?

The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.
Labrador’s yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
-the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.

Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending the land their waves’ own conformation:
and Norway’s hare runs south in agitation,
profiles investigate the sea, where land is.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
-What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North’s as near as West.
More delicate than the historians’ are the map-makers’ colors.